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REPLICATION
A Kid Sensation NovelByKevin Hardman
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
This book is a work of fiction contrived by the author, and is not meant to reflect any actual or specific person, place, action, incident or event. Any resemblance to incidents, events, actions, locales or persons, living or dead, factual or fictional, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Kevin Hardman.
Cover Design by Isikol
Edited by Faith Williams, The Atwater Group
This book is published by I&H Recherche Publishing.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address I&H Recherche Publishing, P.O. Box 2727, Cypress, TX 77410.
ISBN: 978-1-937666-41-5
Printed in the U.S.A.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the following for their help with this book: GOD first and foremost, who continues to bless my endeavors; my family; and my readers, who have been very kind and generous with their support.
Thank you for purchasing this book! If, after reading, you find that you enjoyed it, please feel free to leave a review on the site from which it was purchased.
Also, if you would like to be notified when I release new books, please subscribe to my mailing list via the following link: http://eepurl.com/C5a45
Finally, for those who may be interested, I have included my website, blog, Facebook, and Twitter info:
Website: http://www.kevinhardmanauthor.com/
Blog: http://kevinhardman.blogspot.com/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/kevin.hardman.967
Twitter: @kevindhardman
Chapter 1
“Stay close,” Mouse muttered softly. “I’m gonna need you.”
I gave a terse nod in response but didn’t say anything.
We were currently downtown in the city, on the street. Mouse – my mentor – was wearing a buttoned-up but loose-fitting beige trench coat, under which he sported the well-known black-and-gold uniform of the Alpha League, the world’s greatest superhero team.
Since we were attempting to be inconspicuous, I also wore my uniform under ordinary daywear, which in my case consisted of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a light-weight jacket. Initially, however, I had pressed the notion of wearing a trench coat as well, but Mouse had nixed the idea.
“One guy in a trench coat is inconspicuous,” he’d said. “Two is a couple of TV detectives, looking to bust a case wide open.”
“So why do you get to wear the cool outfit?” I’d asked.
“Because I can actually pull off the look,” he’d declared. “Besides, don’t kids your age like looking scruffy and scraggly? Just wear some sweats or ripped jeans, and you’ll be the epitome of cool.”
And so we had come to be dressed in our current attire. From all indications, our attempt to keep a low profile was working, as no one seemed to be paying particular attention to us as we walked. More to the point, as I reached out empathically, I didn’t sense any out-of-the-ordinary emotional vibes coming from any of the people around us.
After a few moments, we came to one of the city’s many subway entrances. Mouse and I ducked inside, stepping onto an escalator that appeared to descend a good hundred feet, at the very least. Once at the bottom, we found ourselves in the midst of throngs of people trying to get through the turnstiles and onto the subway platform.
Welcome to rush hour, I thought, as bodies hemmed us in on all sides.
Tapping my shoulder to get my attention, Mouse suddenly tilted his head to the side, indicating I should follow him. We then began heading to one of the side walls, cutting a path through those around us that was perpendicular to the flow of foot traffic, causing shouts of frustration (and more than a few obscenities) to be voiced in our wake.
A few seconds later, we found ourselves at the wall. Nearby was a somewhat narrow gate which displayed an official “Metro Employees Only” sign. Needless to say, this was an entrance reserved for subway employees, a means of allowing them to quickly access the subway platform in order to go about their official duties rather than having to wait in line with the unwashed masses. And next to the gate – just to make sure no subway passengers temporarily forgot who they worked for – were a couple of transit cops.
Mouse approached the two officers and flashed what appeared to be a card made of plastic. One of the transit officers – a big fellow who made a show of twirling his nightstick – glanced at the card and simply nodded. Mouse then hustled through the gate, with me on his heels.
At that juncture, a train was just pulling into the subway station. There was a high-pitched squeal of brakes as it slowly came to a halt; a moment later, a two-tone chime sounded, followed by the subway doors opening, and a mass of people began filing out.
He didn’t say anything, but I sensed a slight twinge of frustration coming from Mouse, and I understood why. We were on a tight timetable, and although using the employee gate had allowed us to sidestep the wait and crush of bodies going through the turnstiles, we were still near the rear of a sizeable crowd. Even more, it was evident that we probably wouldn’t make it onto this particular train, which would really throw our schedule out of whack.
As the last of the exiting passengers stepped off the train, those waiting to enter surged forward – a tidal wave of bodies that rushed ahead, almost heedless of anything and anyone around it. If it wasn’t clear before, it was pretty certain now that getting on this particular train was out of the question. Unless we temporarily abandoned our efforts to be low-key.
“Hang on,” I said to Mouse as I telescoped my vision in order to get a good look at the interior of the last train car. Then I teleported us, popping us into the subway car in question, but right in front of a
